The Longer the Waiting
by CravingHoneydukes
Summary: Eight years after leaving King's Landing to sail west, Arya is forced to confront her past trauma.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

*six weeks after leaving King's Landing*

Arya groaned as she slumped against the wall of her cabin. The most recent bout of seasickness left her feeling emptier than usual, and she felt the weakness down to her bones. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the balmy ocean air. Six weeks of sailing and she had spent more time in her cabin trying to keep her food down than on the deck with her crew.

A weak knock on her door stirred her enough to look blearily toward the woman who entered.

"Pardon me, milady, perhaps you should see the maester? This kind of seasickness is worrisome."

Arya gave a watery smile. "Were you sent here by the others to check on me because you are a woman? Do I frighten them that much?"

The woman (Dehya, Arya thought her name was) wrung her hands. "Some members of the crew happen to think this is more of a woman's matter than that of seasickness, milady."

Arya's brow furrowed. "Woman's matter?"

Dehya had moved towards the bowl of water under the window and now wiped Arya's brow with a damp rag. "They believe you might be with child."

Arya felt her mask slip, and she knew her surprise was written on her face. "Find the maester, then. I'll only hear it from him."

A few hours later, _Nymeria_'s first mate looked startled as the maester relayed Arya's orders to turn the ship around. What was west of Westeros would have to wait.

* * *

A/N: Hello! Let me start off by saying that while I was definitely not as unhappy with season 8 as many other people were, I do feel that some parts could have been more fleshed out. Here is my attempt at an epilogue story, and it will be focusing on Arya and Gendry because my poor shipper heart called that relationship way back in season 2 and is still Very Disappointed that they didn't at least talk like adults in episode 6. This story will not be terribly gruesome or graphic, but it will focus on some heavy topics and emotions. If at any point you are uncomfortable, you are welcome to stop reading and make up your own ending in your head. I welcome any feedback you may have. Rating may change as the story progresses.

Cross-posted on ao3


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

*eight years after leaving King's Landing*

King's Landing looked much the same as it did when she was a child. People still milled in the streets, bartering and bantering as they went about their business, although there did seem to be a significant decrease in their numbers. According to the whispers she'd heard while at sea, the quality of life had increased significantly, but she couldn't determine whether that was from access to clean water and a central sewage system (courtesy of one Tyrion Lannister) or less mouths to feed. At any rate, Bran the Broken's reign was one the people of Westeros had never seen before.

Arya hiked up the hood of her cloak as she ducked between stalls, falling into the familiar pattern of imitating shadows. Creeping along, her footsteps were masked by chatter, and her large eyes darted around, taking note of everything. As much as she would like to pretend Bran's rule had rid the city of vipers, Arya firmly believed danger was everywhere. That would never change.

A stranger brushed against Arya's side, bringing the smell of roasting meat in his wake. Despite his mumbled apology, Arya jerked away, leaning heavily on the nearby wall. Excited squeals of passing children morphed into screams, and the smell of food became the sweet cloying scent of death. Stumbling to the side, Arya squeezed her eyes shut and slid onto a doorstep. Her breaths became gasps, searching for air that refused to enter her lungs.

She lost track of time. Perhaps several minutes later, or perhaps an hour later, she opened her eyes and sat staring at nothing. The screams had faded, but her hands still shook when she brought them in front of her face. She finally filled her lungs with air that smelled of fresh-baked bread and stood on weak legs. In the distance, the Red Keep loomed with its two-toned walls, the original red stone intermingling with the sand-colored repairs. The street she was on led straight up the steps of the Red Keep, but a few stalls down, she recognized a stone arch from the times she'd crept out of the fortress as a child.

The king would not mind a delay if it preserved her sanity.

.:*:.

The cellars of the Red Keep were decimated. Piles of red stone lined the walls, and the dragon skulls Arya had once climbed on where shattered, some beyond recognition. The lit torches' light bounced off the walls, offering a reverent atmosphere that seemed more appropriate for the sept than the graves of dangerous relics. She thought it fitting that only Balerion the Dread's empty eyes stared back at her; the noblest of dragons survived another conquest. With feathered footsteps, she ascended the staircase to the land of the living and continued along the silent halls until she reached what had been King Robert's solar. She desperately hoped it was now Bran's, wanting to avoid confrontation should she be caught somewhere she ought not to be.

The morning sun shone through the open balcony doors as she slithered inside, casting everything in a warm, pleasant glow. The red wine on the sideboard caught the light, shimmering like a jewel as she poured a hardy helping into a provided glass.

"I see you found the Dornish vintage. Please help yourself, as I have no need for it."

She snorted. "Have a preference for ale, do you, Brother?" Turning from the wine, she found her brother seated behind a rich desk. His vacant expression shifted minutely, and for a moment, Arya imagined he was smiling.

"I have waited many years to see you again, Arya."

"Yeah, sorry, lost track of time. Did you think me dead?"

"Never."

The surety in his voice made her look up, and he continued, "Sansa, on the other hand, wrote me every month asking how you were."

Her gaze dropped to her wine, and she took another sip. "What did you tell her?"

"The truth. That you were alive but still needed time." He waved a hand towards the open doors. "Did you find the new city to your liking?"

"It still smells like shit."

Bran's lip quirked. "On that, we can agree."

Arya's eyebrows shot up just as the door to the hall opened and Tyrion Lannister walked in. His purposeful gait slowed as he realized his king was not the only person in the room. "Lady Stark! We were not expecting you! To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Arya opened her mouth to respond but her voice stalled as Bran answered, "My sister grew weary of solitude." He turned his head back to her. "Grand Maester Tarly would love to see your maps and charts, dear sister. Perhaps you should spend the next few days with him in the library."

She wrinkled her nose. "I fear I should go mad if I am to be cooped up with scrolls all day."

"Then perhaps you should also become reacquainted with the stables and training yard. I am sure our Master at Arms would be grateful for help with the newer squires, don't you agree, Lord Tyrion?"

"I disagree, Your Grace, but I do think Lady Stark's expertise would provide a wonderful change of pace for the students."

"Alright then, I'll be sure to terrorize the Master at Arms after a session with Maester Tarly. Anything else, Bran?"

"Plan to visit with Ser Brienne in the morning. She has lacked a decent sparring opponent in recent years and is itching to find someone worthy of the title."

Not one to wait for dismissal, Arya threw her words over her shoulder as she exited the room. "Already planned on it!"

.:*:.

Grand Maester Tarly, as it turned out, was very receptive to Arya's findings, despite having wrinkled his nose at her callous dumping of her findings on the table.

"Shouldn't you be more careful with those, my Lady? They represent almost a decade of irreplaceable knowledge."

Arya rolled her eyes and ignored his chastisement, however gentle. "The maps were made to the best of my cartographer's abilities, and they should overlap slightly when unrolled to provide reference points." She had made the mistake of accidentally mixing up the earlier maps in her cabin aboard the _Nymeria_ a few weeks into the voyage and had been utterly lost until her cartographer found her and placed them back in the correct positions. She'd had him redraw the maps immediately so no one else would ever be as confused as she had been. But Sam didn't need to know that. "They are all drawn to the same scale as well."

He sifted through the stack of scrolls, almost two dozen in total. When matched together, the resulting map would be almost twice the size of the courtyard map of Westeros Cercei had commissioned a decade ago.

"What else did you bring back on your travels, my Lady?"

Arya slung her satchel on the table. "Not much. I did not go to conquer, and I hold firmly to the belief that the people of these lands deserve to keep some secrets for themselves."

Sam's eyes grew round. "So, there are other civilizations?"

"Of course. The majority of the cultures we encountered are just as advanced as Westeros, if not more." At this, she handed Sam a bundle of books that had been resting by her feet. "Here are my writings about the first few years of my travels. The rest are on my ship. I'll have them brought to you shortly."

Sam stuttered out his thanks, complete with many a "my Lady", as he unwound the twine holding the stack together and began flipping through the first volume. Arya pointed to the crudely-embossed _1.1_ on the cracked leather spine.

"Each volume has a number indicating the year I was gone – in this case, the first – followed by the volume. There are quite a few. I recorded everything." Sam's eyes skirted to the rest of the stack, seeing that it extended to _2.3._

"My Lady, I am honored that you've entrusted me with your life's work. I feel I should have them sent to the Citadel for copying." He chuckled. "Wouldn't want something to happen to these without knowing their information can survive centuries."

"They are yours to do with as you wish, Sam. My only request is that you take care of them. There is quite a bit of sensitive information in there, and should something happen to those journals, well…the results could be deadly." She turned on her heel. "I'm feeling famished, so perhaps we can continue this discussion in a few hours."

Without waiting for an answer, she left the library and wound her way down the halls to the kitchens. The cook fulfilled her request for bread and cheese, and Arya took her little bundle out into a nearby courtyard that happened to house the training yard.

Munching on her bread, Arya observed from the perimeter how each of the young squires moved when training with the Master at Arms. She soon concluded three things: one, this Master at Arms knew what he was doing; two, he was arrogant about it; and three, the squires were suffering for it. She swiped her palms together to shake off remaining crumbs just as the fourth squire of the afternoon fell into the dirt by the Master at Arms' own doing. Walking briskly toward the man from behind, she unsheathed Needle and laid it on his right shoulder. His entire body tensed, and she knew without looking away from her prey that the rest of the yard had turned to look.

"Dead." She whispered into the newfound silence. He tried to turn, grabbing for his sword in the process, but stilled when he felt her dagger at the small of his back. "Did your own master never teach you to watch the perimeters for threats? I could have killed you at any point within the last half hour and you never would have seen it coming." She released the pressure on her weapons and moved to block his blade as it came from above a moment later.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, girl? I am the Master at Arms for the Red Keep, and you should know that a threat to me is a threat to the King!" His snarling face looked even uglier up close, and Arya pitied any whore that had to warm his bed.

"If you don't know who I am, you are an even worse Master at Arms than I previously thought." She danced to the side as he furiously swiped towards her. She pranced around him for the next few minutes as he lost his temper. Eventually growing tired of his advances, she deftly disarmed him and placed the point of her sword at his throat once again. "Did King Bran not tell you that I was coming?"

His face twisted up in hatred. Before he could utter a word, Lord Tyrion shouted from above. "Lady Arya, perhaps it would be wise _not _to kill the man training the next generation on knights?"

She sighed and sheathed Needle. "A pity." Podrick appeared at her side.

"My Lady, the Grand Maester has requested your presence to complete the inventory of your findings."

"Of course." She tilted her head and studied the fuming man before her. "Be warned, Ser. The king requested that I aid you in training the squires for the next few weeks. I shall see you tomorrow at dawn."

Following Podrick out of the training yard and back under the shade of the open halls, she smirked at his soft laugh. "I've been wanting to do that for a while as well, my Lady."

She sniffed. "He's an arrogant prick. Seniority does not a leader or teacher make. Abuse can only create abusers."

Podrick inclined his head. "Well said, my Lady."

They walked the rest of the way to the library in companionable silence, and Pod gave a slight nod as he left her at the door. Sam had not moved from his seat at the table when she entered, but she did notice more of her books were spread open around him and her bag had been emptied of a few treasures, all of which were lined up in front of him for examination.

Sam did not seem to notice her entrance. He was far too fascinated with the bit of cloth in his hands. "A decorative piece I found in a market. I particularly enjoyed the runes embroidered into the hem."

He started and then groaned as his knee jerked into the table.

"My apologies, Sam. Didn't mean to startle you."

Sam waved off her apologies. "It's no matter, I only wanted to ask you to describe the things you'd found." He reached for a palm-sized rock that, when it caught the light, sent all the colors of the rainbow skittering across its surface. "Westeros does not have many of these, to my knowledge."

Moving closer, Arya gently took the rock from Sam's grasp. "The people called this an opal. I've seen them before in the Braavos markets, but only in fragments and small specks. They are used for jewelry and, in some areas, currency." She moved to put it back on the table and picked up a soft pink feather. "I found that feathers were often used to honor the dead as sacrifices in one particular group of people. They made bouquets and wreaths and would place them on the body before burning. The language barrier prevented me from asking the significance, but I thought it poetic and sentimental. Unfortunately, I don't know exactly what bird this came from. I found it on the ground and thought it worthy of collection."

The next few hours continued much the same, with Sam taking detailed notes as she spoke. Pausing, Arya said, "You do realize all these findings are written in my journals, in far more detail."

Sam flushed but continued copying out her response about a particular powder. "Yes, my Lady, but I hope to catalogue these artifacts and tag them to indicate which is which." He finally lowered his quill. "Speaking of your journals, on my initial glance over them" – here he reached for _1.2_ – "I noticed that some have pages ripped from their bindings." He turned the volume towards her to show her the place where about four pages had been unceremoniously removed, as if she didn't already know.

She stared at the jagged bits of paper extending up from the binding like wintry peaks. "Yes, Sam, I know."

He paused, and his hands holding the book dipped a fraction. "My Lady, if you don't mind me asking, what was written in those pages?"

She stilled. "You remember when I told you there was sensitive information written in these books?" He nodded. "That was the most sensitive information of all."

* * *

**A/N:** Please do not get used to daily updates; I'm notorious for failing to update. Also, all of my stuff is un-betaed, so any errors, typos, or inconsistencies are my own.

Some of you will undoubtedly have questions, but I will only answer them if my answer will not divulge plot.

As this story progresses, there might be some similarities to fics that have been published in the last few weeks. As far as I can tell, all of my major plot points are my own, but there might be some little details that sneak in that are inspired by others. I feel like at this point, it's inevitable.

I'd like to start asking a question every time I update, so here's the new one: does anyone know which song I pulled the title from? It's sweet without being sappy, and it's one of my absolute favorites. This song also has quite a bit of foreshadowing for the next few chapters.

Cross-posted on ao3


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Arya made sure to be in the training yard before dawn the next morning to greet the squires and arrogant Master at Arms. It seemed the man had heeded her warning; he appeared before the cock crowed his morning welcome. His scrunched face readily showed his displeasure, which she ignored. Taking control of the morning's lesson, Arya had the young men begin sparring in partners, and she walked among them correcting their stances and movements gently but intentionally. The master shadowed her silently but still with the same sneer on his face.

Amazingly, he only voiced his displeasure once. Arya was working with a younger, scrawnier boy very obviously still in the beginning stages of learning. "Stand sideface; it makes for a smaller target because not as much of you is facing your opponent," she said as she nudged his feet and corrected his grip slightly.

A snort came from behind her. "Don't you mean _sideways_? Never heard it called sideface in my life."

Without turning, she retorted, "That's because you've clearly never trained in Braavos."

The young boy's opponent, who was an unfair match seeing as he was a head taller than the poor boy, looked over at her with large eyes and a slack jaw. Apparently, the rumors of Braavosi swordsmen had reached his ears even in King's Landing, and Arya did not hear a word from the sullen Master at Arms for the rest of the morning.

A while later, Brienne appeared in the yard, standing as nobly and straight-backed as ever near the entrance to another inner courtyard. Seeing her old sparring partner, Arya gave a small smile and moved towards the other woman. "Been a long time, Ser Brienne. You're looking well." And indeed, she did. Her usual polished armor had been replaced with training armor made from boiled leather, but Oathkeeper still rested at her hip. Her blond hair was still slicked back but now held a few strands of gray.

"You as well, my Lady. I have missed training with a competent opponent."

"Would you like to train now?" Arya gestured toward an empty corner of the training yard.

Brienne inclined her head. "Of course, my Lady."

Arya and Brienne traded blows good-naturedly for an hour or so, only stopping when they realized the training yard had emptied and the sun was high in the sky. Brienne left to attend to her duties with a nod. Arya was left alone, and for once in her life realized she had nothing to do.

She wandered aimlessly through the halls, left alone with her thoughts, until she entered yet another courtyard closer to the king's audience chamber. The thought that this castle had far too many open spaces to be practical flitted through her mind a moment before she noticed that this courtyard was different. A distant memory reminded Arya that this courtyard had once held a sparkling, bubbling fountain at its center and was paved with decorated tiles gifted centuries ago by a prince of Dorne.

None of that remained. Instead, the ground was paved with different-colored stones that had all been shorn down to afford an even surface. Their shapes were uneven, some large, some small. A path of red stone led from each of the four entrances of the courtyard to the middle, where the fountain had once stood. In its place was a towering obelisk built with red bricks and the tip covered with copper.

Arya slowly walked around the perimeter of the space, watching how the sun shined down from its high position in the sky, being blocked by the top of the obelisk and then glinting off the polished tip as she moved around it. It was, put simply, a marvel.

"One of the lords thought the city needed a memorial to those who lost their lives in the wars. He pushed for this to be built, and it was completed before the rest of the castle."

Arya turned her head to look at her brother being wheeled into the courtyard by Pod. "Why the different stones on the ground?"

"Each one comes from a different part of Westeros affected by the fighting. That one there" – he motioned to the largest stone near the obelisk – "is from Winterfell. Sansa was kind enough to send it, despite the North now being an independent land. The intention is for every visitor to the Red Keep to see this and be reminded of the people and how decisions affect them. I prefer to spend time here every day, as it connects me to the whole of the seven kingdoms."

"Six, now." Arya corrected him softly as she sat on the stone floor next to him. She looked at her hands as though she could see strangers' blood on them still.

"Seven are represented here, and no decision will be made under my rule without considering how it will also affect the North. Not when it still runs through Brandon Stark's veins."

Arya rolled her eyes. "You'll always be Brandon Stark."

"I haven't been Brandon Stark in a long time, sister. Although, I do feel him in my soul now more than I have in years." She felt him place a hand on her head almost affectionately. "The stone you are sitting on is from Harrenhal. You spent many months there." It wasn't a question, but she answered anyway.

"Yes." He waited patiently for her to continue, watching as she ran her fingers delicately over the gray rock.

Apparently growing tired of her silence, he continued, "You were changed by your time there. Hardened, I'd say. Living in such fear, it's a wonder you managed to fall in love."

"Don't," Arya whispered, unconsciously clutching her hand to her belly.

"Just because love has caused you pain in the past does not mean it will continue to do so, Arya."

"I love you and Sansa and Jon. And swordplay and sailing. That's enough for me."

Bran hummed and allowed the silence to linger. He kept his hand in her hair, gently stroking it similarly to how he used to stroke Summer. As startling as this realization was for Arya, she couldn't help but melt at the comfort she felt. Had anyone touched her this way since she was a girl and her lady mother smoothed her hair after a nightmare or her father patted her proudly after she hit the bull's eye of the archery target? _Once_, she thought. _He did._

The unhappy growl of her stomach made her stand and move to find the kitchens.

"It's enough for now, dear sister, but not forever." Bran's parting words haunted her well into her dreams that night.

.:*:.

Arya spent the next few weeks following the same routine. She would spend her mornings teaching the squires and undermining their teacher, take her luncheon next to Bran while he sat in the obelisk's courtyard (the Remembrance Needle, Podrick called it), and spend the afternoons spinning her dagger on the tabletop in the library as Sam asked her questions about her travels. She became bored of this routine rather quickly, but she supposed being bored was preferable to running for your life. A lot less fun, but preferable all the same.

She spent her nights alone, usually in her quarters at the Red Keep, but she began sneaking her way out of the castle and returning to her ship at the docks. About two weeks after returning to King's Landing, she lay in her berth aboard the _Nymeria_, twisting a delicate feather between her fingers and settling into the sway of the ship in the harbor. A knock came at the door.

"Enter!" she called, already swinging her legs over the side of her bed.

Her first mate, Edgar, stuck his head around the door. "Beg your pardon, Captain, but the boys and I were heading ashore to drink our fill. We were wondering if you'd care to join." His voice had a lilt on the end that made it sound more like a question, and Arya smiled, already reaching for her scabbard.

"Of course, Ed. Wouldn't want to leave my boys to face the cheating dice players alone."

The pair made their way down the gangplank and to a nearby tavern that was already bursting with angry and jovial shouts alike. Arya never got drunk with her crew; she hated ale, and it was much easier to tell the liars and cheats from the others during dice. Her men appreciated her for this, and they appreciated their full purses even more.

She had already caught two cheats within an hour of entering the room, nodding to her man playing the game with her thumb to her chin. It was an innocent enough signal that he should draw his dagger and make an accusation, and it always paid off. The cup would be upended, and the uncovered dice would reveal a completely different number. A squabble and a punch later, her man would pull out of the game victorious. Tonight, however, the gossip was even better. Men liked to talk when plied with spirits, and the women even more, making the whispers around Arya grow louder with each passing hour.

"I 'eard she cut off Walder Frey's cock and shoved it down 'is throat before slittin' it."

"That's shit. She baked 'im into a pie, like in that ol' Castamere song. How's it go again, whore?" The man next to him did not allow the whore time for a response.

"You know, they say the Dark Wolf is here, in King's Landing. I heard she went to see 'er brother the king, and she's brought back gold from those mystery lands."

"Yeah, I 'eard that too. The young squire for the Western lord – did ya see 'im, 'e was in 'ere two nights ago – anyway, 'e said she's more beautiful than ever. Deadly, it's true, but beautiful. An earring or two, she's got, 'e said, and 'er skin is almost as dark as a Dothraki screamer's."

Arya fingered the hoop at the top of her right ear. _Five earrings_, she thought, almost missing the next thing the gossipers said. She wished she had.

"Rumors are, she almost caught herself a lord, that new one down at Storm's End. 'E's been there, what, eight years now? And no marriage since."

"Now, that one's a lie." His companions guffawed and protested. "It is! My sister went out there to visit our aunt and she came back home saying 'e'd taken a wife from the Riverlands. Said she was expectin' a babe, and that was years ago."

Old feelings churned in Arya's stomach, making her nauseous and clouding her judgment. She stood hastily, knocking her bench back into a barmaid. Rounding the nearby table of speculative patrons, she called out, "You're wrong. It was his sons that were baked into the pie." And she ducked into the shadows outside the tavern once more.

.:*:.

"I've had three complaints from the Master at Arms in the past two weeks. Must you make an enemy of everyone you meet?" Bran asked as Podrick rolled him into the courtyard the next day.

Arya kept her head bent over her sausage and apple. "He's an idiot."

Bran hummed. "He might be, but he is the most skilled man for the job. Aside from you, of course, but you're needed elsewhere." He pulled a small roll of parchment sealed with his new raven sigil in black wax and handed it to her. "Please present this to Lord Baratheon when you reach Storm's End. I'm sure he'll want you to have a good reason for visiting."  
Arya almost dropped the scroll. "Storm's End? Why are you sending me there?"

"The previous Master at Arms was old and died from sickness a few moons ago. Lord Baratheon has requested someone to fill his place, and I can think of no one better than you."

Arya smiled ruefully. "Liar."

"I would never force you to go, Arya. I am asking you to go and seek healing. You have grown so much during your time away, but your wounds have only festered and need to be drained. Only then can your scars fade."

"They'll never fade, brother. I know you already know what happened. That is not something that fades away."

"I did not say _disappear_. Your pain will _fade_. Besides, vulnerability could never be seen as weakness, a lesson you seem to have forgotten."

They drifted off into silence again, a common habit of theirs. Arya drank in the presence of her brother, hoping to find the strength to do what he asked. "When is he expecting me?"

"He is expecting the new Master at Arms, not you, in three weeks' time. Enough for you to visit another friend for some fresh bread." Bran motioned for Podrick, and the knight came forward to move his king's chair away, nodding to Arya as he left.

Arya did not move from her spot, choosing instead to watch the sun as it moved from the sky and the tip of the Remembrance Needle became dull once more.

* * *

**A/N**: Sorry this update took a while, my brother is graduating this weekend so there's been a lot of family time and end-of-year stuff.

I hope you like this chapter! Just a note, I am much more interested in portraying Arya's path to healing, which is why I've chosen not to go in-depth about fighting. Don't worry, there will still be plenty of action, I'm just more intent on exploring her relationships and character growth. Plus it's not a time of war anymore.

No one answered my question from the last chapter, so I'll ask the same for this one: does anyone know which song I pulled the title from? I'd love to hear your guesses.

Cross-posted on ao3


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